


I ask but this of you

by ShadeDuelist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Eventual Fluff, Light Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 09:36:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1105254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadeDuelist/pseuds/ShadeDuelist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written as a deancasweek Secret Santa for tumblr's endversecas</p><p>Medieval/fantasy AU.  Prince Dean of Winchestria is known for fighting his own battles... except when the man he is battling is the one man that he swore never to fight.  His brother, Prince Samuel, has been converted by a foreign knight called Gadriel that he himself hired to teach his brother exotic sword fighting, tricked into rejecting his rule and rebelling against him.  He's forced to turn to his longtime advisor and mentor, Castiel, but the price of reconciliation he asks might be steeper than he took into account...</p><p>Has</p>
            </blockquote>





	I ask but this of you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [endversecas](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=endversecas).



“Prince Dean!  Prince Dean, the rebels have taken over a village on the outskirts of Singer Wood!”  The only answer was a groan, and then a loud clattering as an ornate candelabra fell to the ground when the prince pushed it over.  Fear, helplessness, anger, disgust, and utter sadness warred inside his mind – but worst of all was the knowledge, the indelible knowledge, that _he_ had been the one to cause all of his – and his country's – current woes.  _He_ had been the one to bring that... that _douchebag_ into his kingdom.  _He_ had been the one to insist... _he_ had been the one to _insist_...

Another candelabra fell, this time thrown by the prince: it skipped through the hallway like an obscenely gold-coloured pebble.

All of his current trouble centered around that... that...  'I can't even think of a _word_ for that _douchebag_!', Dean mused, gritting his teeth as he threw open the door to his private quarters.

“Prince De-”

“ _I want to be alone!_ ”, he barked, and the chambermaid dashed off as quickly as she'd appeared in the first place – normally, Dean was always kind, especially to the chambermaids, but ever since Sammy... _betrayed him_...

Thoughts swirled through his brain like mist drifting through the valleys below – thoughts about the events that had led up to his current plight.  King John, his father – _their_ father, he still thought, even though his brother's betrayal was bitter and made his stomach clench – had ruled their subjects with compassion, until Sammy had been targeted by an assassin from Naethera that, having missed Samuel, had killed Queen Mary.  That was when the war with Naethera had started, a war that had consumed much of King John's resources, that had forced the two princes to grow up practically immersed in warfare, training first under their father and then, when their father tried to make a deal to save his sons...  Dean still felt horrible when he thought of that day: he'd woken up from the very gates of death thanks to the healing of the Naetheran wise-women that were so scathingly called 'witches', but his father, when he'd gone to see him, had been slumped in his study – as if his own life had been drawn from him to revive Dean.

After that, the war with Naethera had been a jumble of battles, of victories and losses, while Dean and Sam had struggled to take over their father's role – a war that had seen Dean abducted into Naethera, even, to be tortured.  He'd very nearly defected, too, very nearly been brainwashed into fighting his brother... and then...

Then, he'd been brought back to Winchestria by the knight-errant, Castiel of Caelistra.

Of course it was common knowledge that Caelistra and Naethera were mortal enemies, many hundreds of centuries of mutual hatred having taken place between them.  Dean had learnt about that, but he had never found himself able to believe the stories, mainly because those stories spoke of an entire country founded on the deepest sense of religion, populated by the devoutest only and defended by a vast army of knights-templar, men that were masters of both martial arts, swordplay, and piety, with elaborately crafted wings as the signs of their descent much like the Winchestrian knights wore a brown leather overcoat over their armor to be recognized.  He hadn't been able to believe the stories – religion was not his cup of tea, it had never been, not since he'd lost his mother to a foreign assassin and the following events had made his life just about as harsh as any young prince's life could be.  But when Castiel gripped his hand, slick with blood, and hoisted him onto his horse to ride like the wind out of Naethera's grim lands, Dean had never felt as safe as he had then, and deep trust instantly arose within him.

Castiel settled in Winchestria once Dean was there, aiding Dean and Sam in their war either by leading charges or by assisting the two brothers with advice and comfort when needed.  Sam appreciated the help, nothing more and nothing less, and Castiel was amiable around him, but never as cordial and warm as he was when he and Dean were conversing.  Often, Dean had walked with his most trusted advisor, lieutenant – _and friend –_ on the battlements, discussing the war at first but ending up talking about Dean's life when they realised the sun had long since set and they needed to say their goodbyes for the day.

It was around that time that the chambermaids started murmuring, whispering when out of sight.  It was also around that time that Samuel started teasing him, saying he _'wished for Castiel to be more than just a tool for battle',_ something that Dean fiercely denied.

Dean's mind fast-forwarded, past the most painful part of all that had lead up to the current day – Sam's sacrifice in laying an ambush, luring both the Naetheran and Caelistran princes on board of a ship that sailed off into the ocean never to return again; Lord Castiel's betrayal when he tried to quell a civil war in Caelistra that was also causing trouble in Winchestria, an endeavour that ended up with the Brotherhood of Leviathan swearing blood vengeance on the citizens of Winchestria; his and Castiel's forced exile in the lands of Purgatoria, the land from where the Brotherhood of Leviathan operated, and the horrors they'd been forced to endure while there... his return, Castiel's return, the doubt, the guilt...

And then, his thoughts started slowing down again, revealing those last steps in all of their painful details.  Sam had tried to complete a series of trials, elaborate tests designed to prove strength and worth that would allow him to use ancient defense systems.  It'd been a long and tedious explanation that Castiel had given him, a free translation to 'non-geek' from an ancient Caelistrian text their resident scholar-translator Kevin had deciphered.  They were 'celestial' defense systems that had been put into place long before the rise of Winchestria and that could mean an end to the ongoing wars Naethera had been starting with just about every nation in existance – by isolating the country.  Litterally.  At the same time, Castiel had done something similar for Caelistra, knowing how much sorrow his native country brought Winchestria, the country he'd come to love.  But things hadn't gone the way they'd planned: Castiel had been betrayed and had wandered through Winchestria with his trademark wings clipped, his entire people forced into exile from a land turned hostile against them, and Dean had stopped his brother from making the ultimate sacrifice but not in time to safeguard him...  With Castiel not around to help him, he'd had to rely on his own wits and his own connections – and, weak and unable as he was, he'd called upon the Caelistran exiles to aid him.  The first one had nearly killed him for his connection to 'the betrayer Castiel', and the second...

The second Caelistran, who had introduced himself as Ezekiel, a knight-errant just like Castiel, and he had saved his brother, and had continued to serve him.  Gladly, Dean had entrusted the man with training his brother for the battles to come: Castiel had trained him in a similar fashion back when he'd saved him, and he thought that his brother could benefit from skills like that as well.  Ezekiel proved himself to be invaluable at first, teaching Sammy the basics of exotic warfare, the finer points of battle etiquette, and some Caelistran warrior secrets that not even Dean had known.  But as the days passed and his brother grew stronger again, Dean had noticed that sometimes, it had seemed like the Caelistran spoke through Samuel.  Sometimes, all that had been missing was the man's grave voice.  Sam had become more and more withdrawn, reclusive, sometimes downright hostile.  And he'd started to favor Ezekiel's company more and more.  In itself, this was nothing to frown upon: Sam was indebted to the man that had used his 'celestial powers' to heal him, and so was Dean, plus the Caelistrans were more uptight than the Winchestrians, even more battle-hardened, and definitely less adapted to the social customs of his fair land.  It wasn't anything he flinched away from anymore.

The first time he'd genuinely been alarmed at the man was when he'd told Dean, just when they'd saved Castiel from almost certain death at the hands of an assassin, that he couldn't give the wandering former knight-errant a safe haven in his castle.  It had been upsetting – more so because he had to lie both to his most trusted advisor and best friend as well as his own brother – and it had thrown the harsh reality of the situation into grim perspective again.  Giving Castiel sanctuary would mean drawing the scattered people of Caelistra out for a war, and not an open, clean war as the one they were still waging on Naethera; no, a war with the Caelistran exiles would cost him a lot more than any other war had ever cost him, because the risk was not to him personally but to his entire land.  And if there was anything Prince Dean had learnt from his father, it was that protecting his country came above all else.  So he turned his confidant, his most trusted advisor and his best friend, out into the wilderness again – he'd tried to soften the blow by giving him directions to the safest place in his realm but that didn't ease his sleep any – and he hadn't even recovered from that blow when the next blow came.

A pigeon carrying a letter from Castiel had arrived earlier that week, bearing the most grim of tidings, the most grievous of blows.  Castiel had been captured by a Caelistran faction that sought to force entry into their native land again, and that had tried to torture Castiel into giving his full cooperation.  Castiel had fought and had exited their dungeon alive, he'd stolen the wings of one of his assailants and thereby had regained his full battle prowess again – alongside the knowledge that Ezekiel was dead, and that the man Dean had entrusted the care of his brother to was in fact a man called Gadriel.  In Caelistra, the man had been imprisoned, an offender against their holy order – and now, in Winchestria, the man basically controlled _a prince_.

Dean stopped pacing, looking through the window of his personal quarters again with a heavy sigh.  He had done what he'd _had to_ : he had confronted Sam with Castiel's revelation and revealed his fears for the safety of their land while the Caelistran rogue remained in their castle, in a position of authority – but it had been in vain.  Gadriel had overheard, and he'd shown that he indeed had control over Sam.  His brother had all but knocked him out and had all but murdered Kevin: the scholar still lay in the doctor's quarters, the empty holes that were once home to his eyes disconcerting to Dean even more knowing that it'd been Sam – the same Sam that had protected Kevin when Naetherans sought to assassinate him – who had made him blind, making sure he'd never read another Caelistran text again.

“...It's all such a mess...”, Dean groaned, feeling sick to his stomach.  But then, he thought of what his father would say when confronted with the situation.  King John – the Just, the Righteous, the Fierce, all his titles were well-chosen and they'd all been bestowed on Dean in turn – would tell him to sit down and break up the situation, analyze it into its different components, its different problems, and then solve each one.  Dean found himself wandering to the writing table standing by his bedside, taking a sheet of vellum and a quill and then writing with shaking hands.  Problem A, the biggest problem, was the rebellion, of course, and subsequently the fact that he had to battle his own brother.  Problem B was Gadriel, the _serpent_ that had caused his brother to betray him and rebel against him.  Problem C were the Caelistran factions that were forming and battling for dominance in his fair country, taking the lives of his citizens along as collateral.  And problem D was Kevin – even if he survived the damage done to him, there was no telling if he'd still find a life without his texts and his knowledge worthwhile.  Or, which was worse still, if he wouldn't blame Dean for what had happened.

Dean blamed himself for what had happened, even when he knew he shouldn't, even when he knew that anyone else would've been blinded had they walked in his shoes.  And that meant that, though he could see the problems, he got stuck trying to find solutions.  He couldn't make this right again, couldn't summon the courage to battle his brother, couldn't even lift a sword against the rebellious Gadriel.  He had to – he knew he had to, because his people would not stand for inaction – but he couldn't.  He needed advice, as badly as ever before.

And he knew only one man that could give him the advice he so sorely lacked.

 

Two days had passed since Dean had sent out pigeons to every corner of his realm, asking the mayors of every town to post notices that King Dean sought brave men and women – he couldn't discount women, not when women had saved him and his brother at times when all seemed lost – to aid him in these times of turmoil.  A few had already reported to the castle – strong men, able thinkers, a few versed in healing that had learnt from some of the Caelistran wanderers – but none of them were the person that Prince Dean expected.  He knew that his notices had drawn the man's attention, but not for the first time wondered whether they'd get him to come.

He'd turned out his truest friend when he most needed his help, and that was a crime far graver than he dared to admit, to himself and to the world.  Castiel had every right not to show up, had every reason not to – every Caelistran in the world was out to get him now, Dean suspected – but perhaps there were still reasons left for him to come to his aid again after all.  Dean hoped against all hope, wished to the point of futility.  Some of the chambermaids' gossip had reached his ears, saying how he was stricken by grief from his brother's betrayal, how he struggled to find a way to both safeguard the kingdom and not have to fight his brother face to face, how the people started to grow restless as the rebels were seemingly allowed free reign in and around Singer Wood: all of it true, but none of it truly connecting to him, none of it truly mattering for the moment.  Either Castiel would return to his side, angrily or not, hunted or not, or he'd have to swallow his grief and pursue his brother to protect the country he so loved.  Another day passed, and then another, and another, and on the sixth day since his decision, Dean decided that the next day would be the last day he would have audience.  If Castiel did not show himself after one week, if his advisor hadn't guessed from his notice that the situation was dire, then he would have to act on his own.  Just like he had back in the days before he'd known the man.

The thought was bitter in his mind and even more bitter on his tongue when he sighed.  Dean was a man beyond hope and beyond salvation, beyond even the religion that Castiel held in such high esteem, for what divine power could allow brother to turn onto brother?  What higher force could be satisfied with betrayal and mind tricks and bloodshed not for the benefit of a country or a people, but for _personal gain_?

'Castiel, please, I know I've treated you like crap, but if ever we could fix our past sins and move on to a brighter future where nothing stands between us anymore, let tomorrow be that day...', Dean mused as he took his eyes off the window again and closed them, falling asleep slowly.

 

The next morning, he awoke from hurried footsteps in the hallway.  Hurried, _secretive_ footsteps – they weren't the clatter of the wooden-soled sandals of the servants on stone, nor were they the slightly metallic clinks of soldiers' studded leather boots.  They were soft, like supple leather shoes, and swift like a runner's.  Pretending to still be fast asleep, Dean's hand fastened on the dagger he'd taken to bed with him ever since the war with Naethera had broken out – almost all his life, that was, he mused – and he peered through his eyelashes at the door opening, allowing a shrouded figure entry.  The cloaked form was irregular, bent over slightly, arms absurdly long and shoulders impossibly broad... but then, the dark cloth fell away with a mighty rustle and revealed two bright silver metallic wings, the small overlapping silver 'feathers' rustling as Castiel took a step forward.

“Dean...”  His voice was exactly as Dean remembered it, deep and grave and like the grating of stone over stone; he had never been more happy to hear that voice.  “...Dean, you requested my presence, I know it – that notice was meant not for the hopeful few that have come to your royal audience but for me.”  He approached the bed, kneeling next to Dean's head and putting a heavy hand, the armor glove still on and the metal cold even through a sheet, a swan down duvet and a thick blanket.  “Dean, I know you are awake-”

“I forget you've been trained to read people so well.”, Dean said, stopping his charade and sitting up in the bed, suddenly feeling a little less secure of himself.  His advisor's intense stare unnerved him – it always had, and it always would – but it also made him feel just a little out of breath.  At first, he hadn't noticed that effect, as Castiel and he had been almost constantly battling the Naetheran forces; later, it happened during war meetings as well, though then Dean thought it was the beginning thrill of battle creeping up on him already.  It wasn't until Castiel and he were at a brothel – incognito, of course – on the eve of a particularly heavy battle, trying to make sure the Caelistran knight would not die never having known the joys of the flesh, that he realized battle had nothing to do with that adrenalin rush.  Castiel had gotten them both thrown out of the brothel, and in the journey back to the palace, the knight had kept giving him that look that had Dean's breathing hitch every time their eyes met.

The look Castiel gave him now, sitting by his bedside in the early hours of the morning, was even more intense, and Dean appropriately felt bashful.

“...Dean, you've called for me, and so I came to you...”, the Caelistran said, shifting his weight with a soft jingle of silver feathers shifting.  “You called for me, Dean.”, he repeated, the tone both questioning and proud, as if he'd been expecting the call, as if it answered a call of his own, a need of his own.  But 'need' seemed so improper a term to consider in the same thought as Castiel.

“...I did call for you, Cas.”, he said – if his advisor disliked the term of endearment, the abbreviation of his name, then he didn't show it one bit – and then he followed it up with the words he'd so carefully prepared.  “...I know I slighted you, I know I was unfair to you.  I should've told you the truth back then.  And I know it's gonna sound like an excuse now, but... I swear it's true.”

“I know.”, Castiel said, but Dean was too caught up going over his words to have his confidant's reply register.

“I-it was Eze- I mean, Gadriel, that told me you couldn't stay, that you'd draw Caelistran attention that we could miss while still at war with Naethera...  It was that douche that forced me to choose between my brother and you, a-and you know-”

“Dean, I know.”, Castiel reiterated, placing his hands over Dean's – and finally the full meaning of those words hit Dean, causing him to blink and lose his footing.

“You do?  You know – you knew?  E-even when I sent you away?”

“...I didn't know when you sent me away, no...”, came the hesitant reply, followed up instantly by a more forceful and more confident addition: “But it didn't take me long to figure out when I was back out there.  Bartholomew's goons told me all I needed to confirm it when they had me captured – even if they lied, when I took their wings from them, I knew.”

“Did the mind thing?”, Dean asked, suppressing a shudder – that 'mind thing' all Caelistrans were trained in from birth was the same thing Gadriel had used to utterly grasp control of his brother's mind, fragile as it'd been after his brush with death, after all – and drawing a look of surprise from his advisor.

“The 'mind thing', as you seem to prefer calling it, is actually a form of mental strengthening passed down over many generations in my people, said to be taught to the very first inhabitants of Caelistra from God himself...  But anyway, let's not dwell on that.  You wish for my advice, correct?”

“Of course I do.”, Dean instantly answered, sitting up a little straighter in the bed – he shrank back, however, when Castiel rose to his full length, his armor shimmering in the light of dawn falling through the window.

“Then first, before we speak of this rebellion, let us speak of how to restore our former bond.”

“W-well, you... you'll be hailed as a friend again, offered sanctuary in the castle-”, Dean started, but his advisor waved his hand impatiently, waving away his arguments.

“It isn't your people's respect I need, nor is it safety.  I can keep myself safe again, now that I have these wings again, and I can earn your people's respect again as well fighting for their cause.  ...It is an old pain that I speak of, Dean, an old hurt.  Something that I took in stride in our former situation.”  When Dean looked at his friend, pleading him with his gaze to explain what he meant further, Castiel added: “...If I am to return to your side, it is on my terms.”

“Name them, Cas.  Name them, and I'll make sure it happens.”

“I have only one condition, Dean.  Only one request.”

“Name it, Cas, and it's yours – whatever it is.”, Dean said again, and for the first time, Castiel backed away from him again – just one step, but it was enough to make Dean blink.  He had never seen the man hesitate – not once, neither within battle nor without, not when fighting the Naetherans he hated or the Caelistrans he cherished or the Winchestrians he'd come to love.  “...Cas?”

“If you knew what my condition was, Dean, you wouldn't be so eager to consent to it.”, he said with a sorrowful sigh, which in turn got Dean to redouble the determination in his voice as he replied.

“Cas, I thought you knew... anything for you, man.”

“If you are sure, Dean...”, Castiel said, smiling warmly at him and stepping closer again, this time sitting down on the side of the bed, so close to Dean that the skin of his legs where they were closest to Castiel prickled.  '...Huh, well, that's a first...', the prince mused as he shifted, thoughtlessly brushing one of his legs against the adamant shell of Castiel's hip-plates.  What he hadn't thought about either, however, was the soft hum that left the Caelistran, and the way Castiel suddenly rose again, nervous energy thrumming through him visibly.  “...Am I allowed to remove this armor?  It is heavy on my limbs and it'll make discussing my terms with you easier.”

“Be my guest.”, Dean said, motioning for the further corner of his chambers, where there stood a large table and an empty armor stand – he'd sent his armor to the blacksmith for repairs, so that it'd be ready for the battles ahead.  “If ya need a hand-”

“I'll do fine, I've been trained to be self-sufficient, remember?”, Castiel said, once again with the amiable smile that suited him so well but that looked so alien on his normally impassive features, and when he proceeded, Dean had to admit that he wasn't lying.  His armor was made to be easy to put on and remove, the leather straps holding it together coming apart effortlessly.  Before long, the Caelistran knight was dressed only in a supple leather tunic and pants, with just a few edges of the cerulean blue linen undershirt he wore underneath peeking out at the edges of his sleeves and at his neck.  “...This is... much better.”, he admitted with a gentle sigh, walking back to Dean's side and sitting down on the bed again, the weight much less and his form much warmer.  Dean's legs tingled even more.

“...So... you had terms?”, Dean said, getting back to the matter at hand instantly – he knew Castiel wasn't one for small talk, and neither was he, truth be told, so open and direct was the way to go between them.  “Name them, and we'll discuss them-”

“No.”  Castiel's voice was firm, his expression back to the stern frown he always wore – it made Dean wish for the smile again, the smile that made his advisor seem like a friend instead of a weapon.  “No discussion of my term.  I have only one condition, and as such it is non-negotiable.”

“...Fair enough.”, Dean said.  After all, he _had_ caused his friend grief by turning him away in his hour of need, not to mention it had led to the man's imprisonment and subsequent torture at the hands of his countrymen, and he felt guilty for that, more than he could voice.  “Name your term, then, and I'll give you my answer.”

“As I surrendered myself to your mercy when I came back here, a mere supplicant, I wish you to do the same now.”, Castiel said, a hint of that warmth in his voice and the corners of his mouth turning up ever so slightly.

“You want me to... to drop my guard?”, Dean said – quickly, Castiel shook his head, his voice gravelly and demanding as he continued.

“No.  Not just drop your guard, Dean.  I want you to surrender to me.  I want you to sit before me, naked and sincere.  I want you to give yourself up to me wholly.  Only when you've done so can we fight together again.  If there is anything yet standing between us, then there can be no way in which this can work.”  Dean processed what the knight asked silently.  He considered the terms fair enough considering what he'd put him through, but they were vague, and Dean couldn't help but ask the question burning on his mind.

“Cas, I have to ask, man... do you want to harm me?”

“I understand your distrust, Dean, but I swear I do not wish to harm you, or misuse your position when you do surrender to me.  You have my word.”  Flashes of distrust prickled on Dean's mind: after all, the Caelistran had collaborated with one of the princes of Naethera once, without telling him, and he had once battled him when he thought Dean wanted to incite a civil war in Caelistra, back when he had still been the indomitable and cold-hearted, seemingly soulless wandering knight that had saved Dean and expected only his respect and not his friendship.

And then Castiel placed his hand on Dean's and distrust was banned from his mind.  This was _Castiel_ he was considering, the one man that was closest to him apart from Sam.  The only one in the world he could still rely upon.

With a smile, Dean offered up his hands, wrists pressed together, palms open in surrender.

“As I said, Cas – anything for you.”

“...W-wait, Dean...”, Castiel said, sounding hesitant though his hands moved to grasp Dean's wrists, “You should understand fully what I ask of you.  It isn't just surrender that I expect, but... _compliance_ , for lack of a better term.  Willful cooperation.  Only when you consent to what I wish will it truly be acceptable.”  He said it with a voice that sounded lighter than before, almost wavering, almost backing away.  Now Dean was intrigued.

“What do you mean, Cas?  Consent, compliance, willful cooperation... you... you make it sound like you want me to do something I would normally protest.”

“I am sure you would normally protest, Dean.”, Castiel remarked, shaking his head before sighing and rising from the bed again, though still keeping a gentle but fixed grip on Dean's wrists.  “...Living here has made me covetous, carnal – especially the last few months, with my wings taken from me – and that made me feel less than I was.  Want is still new to me, especially that desire that awoke in me so sharply as of late.  Perhaps it is wrong of me to want-”

“It's never wrong to want, Cas – maybe back in Caelistra, you learn to keep wanting something for yourself in check, but here in Winchestria, we live life _without_ a stick up our asses.  I said it before, and I'll say it again: anything for you.  Name what you want and you'll have it.  Jewelry, food, fine wine, a house, a family-”

“Dean.”  Just one word, but the tone in which it was spoken – reverence mixed with longing, respect and demand mingled and amalgamated – said it all.  It was not an interruption, it was an answer.

“...Me?”  Surprise turned it into a question.  “Me, Cas?”, he repeated after a full ten seconds of utter silence, and still the knight didn't speak up.  “...Cas, please, I don't judge, but just _tell me_ -”

“From the very beginning, Dean,” the Caelistran said, facing away from Dean, “you have fascinated me.  Intrigued me.  My fellow Caelistrans said many times that when I laid a hand on you, I was lost – as a knight, as a celestially ordained warrior, as a citizen of Caelistra.  They said I was less because of you.  But since I lost my wings, truly lost them, I found out that I am _more_ because of you.  When I struggled to find you, I fought more valiantly than ever; when you turned me away, my will to fight evaporated.  With my wings gone, you know I grew to long for more in life – for something to fill up the void that my former purpose left.  And it was only when you turned me away that I realized that nothing could fill up this void better than you.  Your affection, Dean.  That is what I want, and that is what I demand.  If we are to go to battle against Gadriel and your unfortunate brother that is under his sway, then we cannot have this stand between us.”  Castiel looked at Dean again, with eyes positively smouldering with need, and suddenly Dean felt a little hesitant.  He knew firsthand the tenacity of the Caelistran, his relentless pursuit of his enemies in battle... what would it be like to be pursued by him?  “...Dean, what do you say?”

“Cas, I...”  Dean was at a loss: for nearly thirty years he had been raised with the image of an ideal woman, and for nearly ten years he'd chased every remotely interesting woman in the capitol.  He'd grown up convinced that he'd find the right woman – he wasn't too worried about 'marrying right' as his mother had been a common woman and his father had taught him never to overlook his people, no matter their social status.  And now?  Now he looked at the man he trusted most in the world, torn between telling him 'no' and telling him 'yes', a restless itch taking over his body.

“...You are thinking of saying no?”, Castiel asked softly, lightly – the disappointment was so easy to detect that it made Dean's chest hurt and caused him to sigh.  Only the sigh didn't come out as mere air being expelled: his lips moved as well, and before he himself he'd even realized it himself, Dean had voiced his thoughts.

“I'm thinkin' of saying yes, Cas.”  The knight still had a firm but not uncomfortable hold on his wrists, and the skin of his hands felt warm on Dean's; he could feel his confidant's heartbeat, could feel it speed up, telling of his surprise and excitement much better than his shaky exhale or even his eyes.  He didn't speak up anymore, as good a sign as any that it was Dean's move, that his friend wouldn't stand for idle chatter anymore.  So Dean pondered the consequences of 'no' – his friend gone, him standing alone against Sam and Gadriel, the emptiness by his side where Castiel was supposed to be – and the consequences of 'yes' – doing something like that with a man, even if it was Castiel...  In the end, when he looked at his friend again, seeing the hurt in his eyes, the answer became clear.  “...Yes. I accept your terms.  I surrender to you.”  The expression of his friend changed only subtly, from disappointed to disbelieving, but then, before Dean had time to even blink, Castiel's lips were on his own in a kiss that was surprisingly chaste and light considering the tone of the man's previous confession and demands.  Dean answered it hesitantly – perhaps that was the reason why Castiel drew away so soon.

 _Too soon_ for Dean's liking.

“...Consider that kiss the seal of your acceptance, my prince – pardon, _my liege_.”, Castiel corrected himself, and it was incredible the way he made those words of reverence sound even more meaningful with that warmth in his voice.  A warmth that Dean basked in, using it happily as an excuse not to think about everything his advisor could do with the control given to him.  However, trying to ignore him ceased to be an option when Castiel kissed him again.

This second kiss was everything the first hadn't been: it was deep, demanding, and surprisingly sinful for the man that, in Dean's eyes, had raised chastity to an art form – so much of a surprise was it, that he faltered for a split second, caught off guard, but then he remembered that he was supposed to surrender and he followed the other man's lead, giving back in kind.  And trying desperately not to think of that edge of joy that his mind tacked onto the exchange.  He didn't want to admit that he was like that.

The second kiss was followed by a third, and then a fourth, both just like it – long and passionate and alluring – and both given in between Castiel trying to find a comfortable position as close to Dean as he could get.  Dean himself leaned away a little more in between each kiss, pushing backwards on his bed to allow his advisor to lean closer, but in the end, when they came up for breath again, Dean was back where he'd started, with the slight but all-important difference that Castiel had kicked off his boots and that he was now leaning over Dean, looking down at him with a look that Dean hadn't ever thought he'd see in those eyes bluer than the bluest sky: a look of want.

“...Dean, I feel your fear, remember?”, Castiel said emphatically, and Dean blushed, feeling uncommonly like he'd been caught red-handed.

“Yeah, well, this isn't exactly _common_ for me, bein' kissed by a dude.  E-even if you're the guy doin' the kissing.”, he tacked on at the end, and maybe it was that addition that caused his advisor to grin and lean lower over him, kissing him a little more subtly and definitely not as lengthy as before.  Once their lips detached again, Castiel moved to whisper into his ear.  The words made Dean's blush even worse.

“ _I can also feel your arousal, Dean, even if you don't wish to recognize it for yourself._ ”  Castiel's lips brushed over his earlobe and then over the sensitive skin of his neck soft like feathers, but at the same time hot like stones right from the fire, searing his skin and making it tingle.  Making _Dean_ tingle.  It was just like the itching feeling before, but intensified a million times, and with Castiel's words, Dean had to admit that it was similar to when he'd been with women.  Adrenaline rushing through his system, making him oblivious to the world, making him rough and reckless and relentless in his pursuit of pleasure.  And that need, that need to see them blissed out in his arms, that need to hear them say his name in the breathless tones only utter gratification could bring about.  Did he really want to hear the same from Castiel?  Did he really want to see his advisor in his arms, sweaty and sated, hear him whisper or moan or cry out his name at the highest of highs?

When Castiel parted his lips and sucked somewhat harshly on the spot where his neck and his shoulder met, Dean's whimper, fuelled by surprise but mostly by pleasure, answered his own question.

“Cas... d-damn, where'd you...”, he asked, his voice still shaky from a mixture of wary surprise and the last remnants of the rush of joy he'd felt.  He meant to ask where the man had learnt to be so precise, where he'd learnt to be so _good_ at something he had never even done before – but then he remembered.  The last time he'd had to save him, it was from a hag that had boasted of how easy it had been to seduce the man into letting down his guard – apparently, she'd taught him a thing or two about sex.  Castiel faltered for a second, clearly having caught his thoughts as well, but no longer: another heartbeat later, his lips pressed on Dean's shoulder, pushing the prince's nightshirt away a little.  “Mmm, Cas...”, Dean said, closing his eyes and letting the rest of his senses take over.  His skin burned wherever the Caelistran's lips pressed – or wherever his mouth hungrily sealed against his flesh, which was a much more accurate statement seeing as Castiel seemed to derive joy from his whimpers of before and his gasps and moans now.  Because this, alien though it was to feel a muscular body against his instead of a soft and pliant body, generated an unknown heat inside him and made him _want_ just as badly as any other time he'd shared his bed, or another's, for the night.

“...Dean...”, Castiel murmured – when the prince opened his eyes, he saw his friend's blush and the fire in his blue eyes, seemingly reflecting back how he felt.  “...Undress me... my patience is limited this day...”

“...Cas, you-”  Normally, Dean would balk from giving a command, even in the bedroom – especially in the bedroom – but he'd promised his friend to give himself up, which clearly included being commanded around, not to mention his resistance was next to nonexistant after Castiel's bold and precise trail of kisses and nips down his throat and across his shoulder.  Already his hands were moving to pull the supple leather tunic off him, removing the sky blue undershirt the man wore in the same motion.  His endeavours were rewarded most gratifyingly with a deep, passionate kiss, and for a moment, Dean got lost in the sensation of his confidant, his advisor, his _friend_ pressing himself against Dean, who was still clad in his nightshirt but felt like he could just as easily be wearing full armor and still get as much of that pale, alabaster-like skin against his own, if not more.  Cas' groan – impatient and clearly less than satisfied – was lost on Dean, his mind hazy from the kiss they were sharing.  Only when Castiel pushed away a little, ending their kiss abruptly and grabbing Dean's hands to move them to his belt, did the prince realise that he'd stopped and that his advisor didn't much like that.  “C-cas, man-”, he started, but the knight cut across him, his voice gravelly and heavy with need that took his breath away, just as much as it stole Dean's breath.

“I did say my patience is limited today.  You have nothing to fear, but time is of the essence, and the sooner you give in to my demands, Dean, the sooner we'll come to my part of the agreement.  Now...”  He moved so he lay by Dean's side, which allowed the other man a lot easier access to his belt and his pants.  Hesitantly, Dean pushed Castiel's leather pants down, leaving his underwear on – however, Castiel seemed to sense his unease and pulled him closer for another kiss, just as deep and passionate as the previous one, but this one bore more tenderness and less outright lust.  Again, Dean was lost, but this time, instead of being swept away, he happily jumped in and gave himself up to the feeling, which seemed to be what Castiel had been wanting.  “...I want this to feel good to you, Dean... I want you to lose yourself to me, not because I take you as my own, but because you _give yourself up to me_.  Like you agreed... and like you clearly want to...”, he murmured close to Dean's ear after they had to part for breath, and Dean shuddered involuntarily, the hot rush of air right against his ear more stimulating than it had any right to be.  Normally _he_ was the master of pillow talk – but Castiel clearly had a natural talent when it came to this.

“Cas, I-”, Dean started again, but once more, the knight cut him off with a kiss, this time grabbing hold of Dean's hands and moving them to his underwear, and then they pushed it off until it joined the supple leather of the pants around Castiel's knees, and then the two men jointly pushed both bothersome items of clothing off completely.  And once that was accomplished, Castiel slowly pulled away before he whispered into Dean's ear again.

“ _...You look exquisite with your eyes closed..._ ”  Dean opened his eyes again to see his friend looking at him, eyes half-lidded and dark with need, stretched luxuriously next to him on the bed, displaying himself.  Instantly, Dean looked away, because...  He wasn't even sure what caused him to instantly avert his eyes, but he guessed it was because his friend – no matter if they'd lay together soon – didn't even try to hide his arousal.  But Castiel's senses were too attuned to him by then and the Caelistran chuckled softly.  “Dean, your shame isn't needed, not now... not when your own lust is obviously felt... even seen...”  It took all of Dean's willpower not to look down at himself, but he didn't actually have to do that, knowing all too well what he'd see.  Kissing Castiel – being kissed by him in that demanding, sinful, _glorious_ way – had made his body ache with the intensity of his hunger for more.  He needed Castiel and him to continue, nevermind their agreement and the reason for it; his hunger, now that it'd been awakened, demanded satisfaction, and judging by the way Castiel looked at him, it would get that.  In spades.

“...C'mon, Cas, you can't expect a man to be kissed like that and not need... _something_ , right?”, he argued, and Castiel shook his head, crawling a little closer to nearly growl out his next words.

“Indeed, so I think it's time you take off that nightshirt, Dean.”  If he'd been demanding before, it was nothing compared to the outright command in his voice now, and Dean scrambled out of the bed and complied hastily as if every ounce of that Caelistran native mind control was used to tempt him into complying... only his eyes betrayed that that wasn't the case.  He regarded Dean with eyes filled with need, not with that fixed stare that Gadriel had held Sam under almost constantly.  Once Dean was naked – a process that took long enough, because his haste and the long nightshirt didn't combine, clearly – he didn't hesitate to join Castiel in his bed once more, and this time, when the two men kissed, the knight eagerly pushed Dean down into the mattress, keeping his hands pinned down beside his head, making Dean's wrists itch even more than his back.  “...you look _exquisite_ , Dean... handsome as ever...”, Castiel murmured in between a renewed trail of kisses and nips down his neck, this time favoring his other side.  Dean wished badly that he could answer, but all that came from his lips was a soft groan when Castiel kissed a sensitive spot on his neck, and then a much louder moan when the Caelistran parted his lips to suck none too softly on that very same spot.

“ _...J-jesus, Cas...._ what're you tryin' to do, man...”, Dean managed to utter when his friend seemed to give him some reprieve by kissing squarely on his shoulder, but he knew better than to get an answer.  He'd given him control and was now reminded of that fact both physically, by his wrists being securely pinned on either side of him, and mentally, by the lack of an answer.  Castiel had this situation completely in _his_ grasp and he wasn't about to give that up.  And though Dean didn't struggle against his hold, he still mentally rebelled, even when his protests and questions became more vague and less rebellious each passing second.

The knight had reached his chest by now, kissing over his sternum, slowly but surely kissing downward.  It made Dean feel as if the blood in his body rushed towards his chest as well, his heart beating extra loudly and extra vehemently in order to press against his ribcage more, to get closer to those divinely crafted lips that were light across his skin now.  No more nips interspersed the man's kisses.  Castiel said something but it was lost on Dean, who was focused more and more on the direction his advisor seemed intent to go in.  He hadn't needed to look himself over or hear Castiel read his mind to know what he felt and how his lust showed: he felt it himself, after all.  And he no longer denied it, like after those first few kisses; he now eagerly acknowledged it, and with that admission came even _more_ hunger, unrestrained by years, almost decades, of having been taught that a man should never long for what he was about to do, that a man should never want another man.

When Castiel's lips lightly pressed onto his stomach, every last remnant of those thoughts flew out of his head to be replaced by heavy, heated, ravenous desire the likes of which no woman had ever inspired within him.

“ _C-caaaaas...”_   It was a lengthy moan, feverish and – something Dean normally would fight but that now seemed as natural and normal as waking up – _pleading_.  Castiel looked up at him, smiling somewhat lewdly, and then focused on more kisses, each of which had Dean groaning again.  And then came the nips, the light and quasi-playful suckles on the skin of his stomach, which provoked a lot less light and anything but playful moans from the prince.  It was only when Castiel decided to suck on one particular spot a little over his navel that Dean couldn't help it and arched his back, pushing his stomach and most of his lower body up against the man that was trying to get him to lose it without even a single touch of his hands, it seemed.  “C-cas...! Ahh, d-damn it, I wanna-”

“There's no need for you to reciprocate, Dean.”, came the answer in between somewhat hurried huffs of air – and suddenly, as if his lover shared his ability to read people's minds with him, Dean realized that he was right.  His own desire was burning, and the need inside of him high, but Castiel's desire was even greater.  The man's palms were sweaty, and a quick glance proved that the same was true for his entire body by then as well: a slight sheen of transpiration hung over that freakishly pale skin, making Dean want to run his hands over the man's body even more badly... but even more telltale was his rapid breathing and the way his hands shook, their grip on Dean's wrists strong as ever but the light little tremors in them making it less-than-stable.  Normally, Dean would seek to break a grip like the one that held him now; normally, he would turn the tables and get control back with a vengeance.  Normally, but not now.  Now, he just panted out something that resembled a chuckle and slowly pushed his body up again, encouraging the knight to continue.  “Dean...”, Castiel admonished, but lightly and half-heartedly, and if he meant to follow it up by anything else, he sorely failed.  Instead, he applied his lips once more to Dean's stomach, subtlety a thing of the past as they slowly meandered downward.  It didn't take long before Dean seemed to have to gasp for breath non-stop, every nip or kiss or _graze of teeth_ – where had the Caelistran even _learnt_ all that? – driving the air he'd painstakingly gathered in back out in another moan or plea.  Maybe the heat around them was partly to blame for it as well; not that Dean or Castiel took any heed of that unimportant fact.  What mattered far more was the fact that the Caelistran was seemingly making a beeline for Dean's groin, getting closer to the Winchestrian prince's erection with every kiss.  Would he...?  “...Don't ask silly questions.”, Castiel answered the unposed, half-wondered question – ' _oh yeah, mind reader_ ' – before bridging the gap formed by Dean's pubic hair, sealing his lips against Dean's manhood and lightly kissing it.  Dean shuddered.

“Holy _shit, yeah_ , do that again...”, he said, only a little more pleading than he usually voiced those same words, but Castiel was following his own agenda and not Dean's – the knight withdrew his lips, raising an eyebrow.  “Come _ooooon_...”, Dean pleaded again – and after what seemed like the longest period of inaction yet, he sighed shakily and repeated his plea, tacking on a whispered ' _please_ ' at the end.  “C-come o- _oooaaaahh..._ ”  His words turned into a feverish moan at their third iteration: Castiel saw fit to finally give him what he wanted by licking lightly and swiftly along the underside of his erection, and that made Dean's blood positively boil with excitement.

“Mmm, Dean...”  Castiel's definite growl of his name amplified his reaction, making his shudder all the more pronounced, and when he continued, it was all Dean could do to bite his lip and keep himself from moaning again.  “ _...I will get you to cry out your pleasure yet this day..._ ”  He reapplied his lips and his tongue, the kisses now far from light and the licks far from fast – and no amount of restraint could keep Dean from moaning this time, expletives falling from his lips as easily as raindrops from the sky.

“ _F-fuck, Cas... ahhh, Chriiiiist,_ w-where'd you – _ooohhh!_ – learn to be t- _thiiiiis goooooood..._ ”  One sentence, simple as it was, was already enough to occupy whatever part of his mind was not busy drowning in pleasure, and when Castiel answered, he took a full minute to have the words register.

“...It was – _mmm_ – a long time a- _mmh-_ way from you... too long, Dean...”  The knight looked up at Dean again at the same time the prince looked down at him – the moment their eyes met felt like a revelation, and both men let a soft breath escape them, not fully a contented sigh yet but also not just an exhale.  And when Castiel spoke up again, Dean could feel dizzy anticipation.  “Relax, my prince, if you do not, this might not be as comfortable-”

“Go on...”  The fact that his admission sounded less pleading than his lust justified was a testament to Dean's stubborn nature and his will, despite all else, to keep control over each situation.  The grin that accompanied his words, longing and only slightly hesitant, showed his state of mind a lot more clearly.  “...I want to mmmake up for... _oh,_ for not bein' what you needed me to be-”  He was cut off by a deep kiss once more – Castiel had, while he spoke, pushed himself up again and now he held himself up over Dean, but only barely so: while they kissed, their bodies were pressed together as closely as was comfortably possible.  “ _Mmm, ahh Cas..._ ”, Dean ground out when they parted for a quick breath, only to be cut off once more by the Caelistran kissing him.  But the next time they broke their kiss, it was the other man that spoke.

“...Turn over for me...”  Not for the first time, Dean felt a little apprehensive as he did just what the other man asked; but this time, the feeling of anxiety was laced with a delicate hint of genuine fear.  He knew, of course, what his advisor had meant when he asked Dean to give himself up, and of course he knew the technicalities of the way Castiel intended to possess him; but he'd always associated that kind of intercourse, be it a woman or a man that was on the receiving end, with words such as _painful_ and _ill-advised_ and _damaging_.  Would Cas – _his_ Castiel, the man that had always shown him such kindness, such consideration, even now that they were both giving in to a lust that had somehow grown without him noticing – really subject him to pain and possible injury for the sake of his personal gratification?  “...Dean...”  Castiel's soft whisper of his name ended Dean's thoughts abruptly – ' _oh yeah, mind readin', I keep forgetting he does that even now_ ' – and he looked at the other man over his shoulder, seeing the knight smile a little sadly but so tenderly at him.  “I'm not going to hurt you.  I would never do anything to hurt you.  In fact I want to bring you pleasure... such pleasure...”  He leaned low over Dean, grinding his own erection very insistantly against Dean's behind, gleaning a soft groan from the prince, who admitted that the idea didn't seem all _that_ scary and that the promise of pleasure did soften the fact that Castiel was going to be taking him, literally _taking him_.  And, mouth level with Dean's ear, he whispered a heated continuation that had Dean moan again: “ _So much pleasure you'll lose your mind..._ ”  He nipped at Dean's neck again, just as heatedly as before – Dean pushed his head a little deeper into his pillow in response, both to bare more of his neck to Castiel and to muffle his moans, because _fuck that was so sensual_ , the way the knight was grinding his manhood against his ass and at the same time kissing the back of his neck...  “Let out your moans, Dean...”, Castiel spoke in that demanding tone again, and Dean turned his head sidewards just in time to let slip a loud ' _fuuuuck, Cas_ ' as the Caelistran sucked on the same spot he had before, sending a searing blast of heated delight down his spine and straight to his groin.  Castiel grinned – Dean could feel it as he kissed further, his impossibly soft lips pressing along his spine now, but he was past thinking about that when Castiel took no time at all to finally press an almost chaste kiss on his buttocks, each in turn, and breathed a puff of warm air over the sensitive and almost tingling skin of the prince's ass.  “...Pull your legs up underneath you, Dean – or better yet, settle yourself on your hands and knees... or I can't manage this...”  A split second of fear took Dean by surprise, but it died away almost instantly and he nodded, pulling his legs up and pushing his hips up a little; however, before he could manage to push up so he could shift his weight backwards a little more, Castiel had already put his hands on his buttocks to push them apart gently and his lips-

Dean's mind was gone the second those softer-than-down lips pressed against his sphincter, and the moan that left him was everything he wouldn't ever have thought himself to be: pleading, eagerly submissive, and achingly pleasured.  It was all he could do not to rock his weight backward and press his behind firmly against Castiel's face.

“ _Jeeeesuuuuus..._ ”

“Not quite...”, Castiel said – he didn't even pull away, and so Dean could _feel_ him form the words, which twisted his guts in extatic knots – before adding: “I'll take it as a compliment... _mmmh_...”  He parted his lips and let his tongue circle the muscle he had previously been lavishing with soft kisses, provoking a few more expletives from Dean.  The prince didn't hold back his moans at all anymore, oblivious as the other man was making him for the rest of the world, and he attempted a few times to settle his weight a little better – each attempt was stopped by another lick or another soft suckle on the extremely sensitive skin of his ass.  However, it wasn't until Castiel wriggled so very subtly with his tongue that Dean realized what the idea behind the very deliberate actions of the Caelistran knight was: by his lavish attention, the muscle of his sphincter relaxed, and because of Castiel's soft but insistant pressure, applied carefully with his tongue, he was both loosening tension and preparing him for more.  'More', like the way the tip of the knight's tongue now found itself past the ring of muscle, lapping lightly at his insides.  And, inevitably, 'more' like the way Cas' hands now shifted, one of them moving away from his behind, only to end up close to where Castiel's lips had just been present as the knight pulled away again.  “ _...Relax, my Dean..._ ”, Castiel whispered while pressing one finger softly against the muscle he'd just so painstakingly prepared for just that purpose.  Dean meant to groan in protest – or at least half-assed protest – but then Castiel's lips found their way a little ways downward, ghosting kisses over his testes instead now, and his groan turned into a near-cry of the other man's name.

“C-christ in _heaven, Caaaaas...!_ ”  'Heat' was too meager a term to describe the rush of utter desire that washed over the prince, causing him to positively writhe in the other man's hold; and protest was the last thing on his mind.

Finally Dean, prince of Winchestria, gave himself up to Castiel, submitting completely to him.

The knight seemed to realize it the very second it happened, because his kisses became more fleshed-out and his finger pressed deeper, slowly thrusting in and out of the body of the man he so loved and valued, slowly building up a rhythm that Dean's body seemed to intuitively adjust to.  The man's insides seemed to push and pull at the digit that invaded him in time with its motions, pulling it deeper and pushing it outwards again faster.  It didn't take long for Castiel, panting a little again, to leave off Dean's testicles again in order to lather a second finger up in his saliva in order to have it join the first one – Dean moaned loudly when it did enter him, the stretching sensation he felt softened and indeed swept away by Castiel's kisses and soft nips at the sensitive skin of his privates.  The knight himself moaned as well, impatience mixed with the solid desire to finally, finally take possession of the man that he loved so dearly and had loved almost as long as he could remember.  His longing made the air around him seem unbreathable with heat and the skin of Dean's privates taste like mead and milk and sweetbread, his moans and curses sound like the voice of an angel whispering the secrets of paradise to him.  And that same longing moved him to withdraw his hands and grind out his next imperative statement to the prince.

“G-get on your hands and knees while I prepare myself for you...”  Dean hastened to follow his command, he noticed with no small measure of satisfaction; but he himself scrambled from the bed as well, taking from his satchel a small ration of food he'd spent his gold on the previous day.  It cointained a small piece of bread, a little bit of cooked meat, and – a commodity he'd surely be able to use – _butter._ Slippery, rich butter that the Caelistran spread over his close-to-aching member, rejoining Dean on the bed and using his butter-slick hand to grease the other man's sphincter as well.  The prince shuddered and looked back at him, eyes dark and swimming with lust already.  It was nearly too much, but Castiel hadn't gotten where he was with no restraint, and as such he didn't lose himself just yet.  Instead, he growled something that Dean didn't quite understand – most probably his name – before just grabbing Dean's hips.  In a heartbeat, he'd taken up a place squarely between Dean's legs; another heartbeat, and he'd pushed Dean down so the prince's ass was level with his groin.  A third heartbeat, and Castiel had very unceremoniously pressed forward, the tip of his erection slipping with relative ease inside of Dean.

“ _Shit, Cas!_ ”, Dean cried out – Castiel could only assume that it was because this was still new to him and because his mind still rebelled at the thought of being taken, being physically breached by another man in so intimate a way, until Dean groaned again.  “ _Chriiiiist,_ Cas, f-fuckin' _move,_ goddammit...”  The knight didn't need any further encouragement: he slowly withdrew again, pushing back a little faster than before and a little deeper, slowly working up a steady driving rhythm that sank him gradually more into the man he lusted for so badly and loved so deeply.

When Dean pushed back his hips into his motions, he was the one that moaned.

“ _Oh Dear Lord in heaven..._ ”  Nothing, not his wildest thoughts, not even his most deliriously desire-filled dreams, could have prepared him for having Dean not only cooperate, but _eagerly_ so.  And that could only mean one thing.  The knowledge of that one fact made him moan again and slow down his movements somewhat as he heatedly spoke up again.  “De-dean... you mean you – _uhh –_ want this j-just like I do?”

“ _Christ_ , Cas, you gotta ask?”, Dean responded vehemently, gripping his sheets tightly as he thrust back at Castiel, though with less force as well.  “I... don't think you were... the only one that didn't realise... how much he wa-wanted something – _someone..._ until life opened his eyes...”, the prince panted out.  “N-now _move da-aaaaahhh-mmmmmnnnn...!_ ”  The prince's words turned into a loud, drawn-out moan as Castiel thrust deep into him, gripping his hips tightly.  The Caelistran moaned as well – how could he _not_ , with the way Dean's body clung to his manhood, seemingly trying to pull him even deeper?

“Deaaaaan... Dean, _oh Dean_ , I want... I want more... c-can I-”

“ _Go onnn, g-go oooooon..  P-please, Caaasssss...._ ”  That final admission, that final display of utter surrender, had Castiel's head spinning even more than it had already been, and with a grunt he thrust inside the prince again, and then again and again, fast and relentlessly deep with each thrust.  By then Dean was reduced to moans, half-cries of pleasure and panting breaths.  He was being very plainly _taken, used_ by the man that he'd come to depend on and need so very much, and he _loved every second of it_.  Plus, the fleeting thought hit him as Castiel shifted the grip of his hands just a little to keep things comfortable, it wasn't like they were just satisfying base lust.  There was some measure of tenderness in there as well, drowning though it was in the wildly turbulent rush of desire they were giving into.

A particularly hard thrust Castiel gave made the thought flee his mind, as well as forcing a loud gasp from his lips, focusing him back on the matter at hand.  He felt his muscles tremble with the sweet tension that meant he would come undone soon – sooner than he'd expected.  The next hard, deep thrust of the knight made him nearly cry out as well as also justify why he was already feeling close to his climax: somewhere inside of him there was a sensitive spot, and whenever Castiel's inward thrusts went deep and hard it seemed to transmit that energy right to his erection, which ached to be touched so he could reach his peak.

“C-caaaas, more...”, he pleaded – and whether because he'd listened and given into him or because he couldn't hold back anymore even if he wanted to, the knight gripped his hips tightly and slowed down his thrusts just a little, each one going hard and deep inside of Dean and hitting that secret sensitive spot which made his nerves explode one thrust at a time.  Dean, in turn, found himself gripping his pillow tightly, the down crackling softly under his palms, while he rocked his hips backward into each of his lover's thrusts, eager to find completion even though he knew he needed the man's touch for that.  “Cassss, _Caaaassssss... m-more, come on, ahhhh mmmmooooore..._ ”, he ground out in between heated gasps and hurried breaths, and he chanced a look backwards at the man, whose brow was furrowed and his eyes closed as he held onto Dean with a wild desperation the prince knew all too well.  So Castiel was close to the edge as well...  “ _C-cas, take me... c-come on... let go... take me o-over the edge..._ ”  The only answer he got was a loud and particularly heated moan, and one of Castiel's hands moving away from his hips, snaking underneath his form and then wrapping around his aching length, stroking  him with all the lustful urgency of a man dancing along the edge of pleasure.  His words made sure Dean didn't even have time to breathe, either.

“ _Cry out my n-name, Dean... cry out for_ me _now... ahhh...”_

Dean didn't hesitate for a heartbeat to comply.

Rolling his hips backwards erratically into Castiel's thrusts, his lungs emptied of air in an exultant exclamation of the Caelistran's name and his body jetted out its seed all over his sheets.  In those final few thrusts of his lover, through a haze of pleasure, he could feel the moment in which Castiel lost his footing and plummeted over the edge after him, though he could feel the resulting warmth rushing into his innards much, much better – surprisingly, it didn't feel nearly as disgusting as he'd thought, instead feeling like a _reward_.  His body shook just a little in the afterglow of pleasure when Castiel groaned and pulled out of him again before slumping next to him, spent just as he was – Dean's arms gave out a second later.  The silence between the two was all-encompassing but not uncomfortable at all.  Finally, however, Castiel turned to him again, running a hand over his cheek – judging from the soft, non-greasy feel, it was his left hand, Dean mused – and sighed softly.

“...Time is of the essence, Dean, much though I'd like to enjoy your presence and warmth some more in the comfort of your bedroom and your bed.  We should dress-”

“Uh, I don't know about you, Cas, but _I_ ain't going anywhere until I've _bathed_.  I smell like you-”

“As you should.”, the Caelistran interrupted him with a half-growled answer – it was possessive to a degree that Dean never would have suspected from the knight, and it made him smile.

“I'm not arguin', I'm just saying that we should break this to my loyal subjects a li'l more lightly, and certainly not in the middle of a civil war.  Let's keep the engagement party for _after_ we got through this shit, okay?”  Castiel first looked appropriately confused – he had never been very good at humor and the like – but then he smiled as well and nodded.

“Then let us bathe, Dean, my prince... perhaps I can assist you?”

“Oh, I'll bet you can.”, Dean said chuckling.  “Should I send the servants for the tub and the hot water or d'you want some privacy?”

“...I think privacy is more useful.”, the knight admitted, grinning ever so softly, and Dean suddenly realized that the friendship between him and the Caelistran would never be the same again.

It'd be much, much more, and that pleased him.

 

“...So, does everyone understand what they need to do?”, Dean said, and the four or five men gathered around the table nodded.  The lone woman sitting at the edge of the room gave him no such sign of agreement, but he knew that she was more than in understanding with what had been said.  She wasn't a warrior but a civilian – however, she'd become part of the militia he'd formed back when war with Naethera first broke out and had had extensive training in combat.  He'd personally seen to that.  “...Then let's go.  Set up the camps as Castiel detailed, blockade the roads to the villages – they've been evacuated anyway – and shoot holes in anyone that doesn't wear the Winchestrian coat of arms.”

“...What of prince Samuel?”, one of the men asked, and Dean sighed, shaking his head.

“Gadriel's controlling his mind, and he's still weak.  He won't show himself, not unless Gadriel shows _his_ ugly face.  And he's not going to do that any time soon.  He wants this rebellion to grow first – and that's what we'll stop by blockading the road.  No supplies means hungry rebels; hungry rebels are discontented rebels, and that'll mean they'll come back to our side.”

“...What if the rebels get support from Naethera or Caelistra?”, came another question, and this time Dean did sigh.

“...Cas?”  His Caelistran knight took over with a minute nod of agreement and approval, not smiling and looking much like an ivory statue in his pure white armor.

“We know that Gadriel will not be eager to accept support from Naethera – hatred for the Naetherans runs very deep in us Caelistrans – and the forces of Caelistra have become scattered, warring amongst themselves.  Gadriel either stands alone or he's in league with the solitary dictator of Caelistra that turned the land hostile against its inhabitants.  If he stands alone, his rebellion will be broken all the more easily – if he is in league with the vile Metatron... then this rebellion might cost all of us dearly.”  He then fixed each of the men in turn with his stern gaze – Dean could see each man flinch in turn.  Only the woman sitting by the door didn't look away, which testamented her iron willpower and her grim resolve.  “I am prepared to pay with my life for the good of Winchestria and its rulers – prince Dean has my full allegiance, and prince Samuel is merely misguided.  You who are of Winchestria, who were born in its green valleys, will surely stand by me.”  The men agreed loudly before saluting Dean and taking their leave.  Last to walk up to Dean was the woman, smiling broadly.

“You two have sure picked the wrong time to make nice... but congratulations anyway.”

“How did _you_ know that, Jody?”, Dean said, utterly surprised, and she chuckled.

“Only a fool wouldn't pick up on how you two look at each other now.  I'm not a fool-”

“I wouldn't dream of callin' you a fool, milady.”, Dean said, giving her a gentle smile before turning serious again.  “...Thanks for helpin' us out, though.  I know ya like the quiet life, but-”

“I don't _get_ the quiet life.  I rue the day I ever set eyes on your 'uncle' Bobby – but he was the best mistake of my life.  Even if we never got married, we acted like it at times, and he was the sweetest man I ever knew.  Taught me a trick or two in my militia days, too.  ...Don't worry, you can count on me to help the villages near the barricades set up for defending against the rebels' attacks, both from without and from within.”  She, too, saluted the prince, though her salute was followed by a hearty hug, and then she left, leaving the two men alone in the room.

“...She is a very astute woman.”, Castiel remarked, looking at the door.  “Her mind is sharp.  She reminds me slightly of my mentor in the old days, Uriel.  A sharp wit and an even sharper tongue.”

“Heh, she reminds _me_ of Bobby so much it's almost painful.  Two peas in a pod, they were.  ...Uh, so we ride out tomorrow.”, Dean said hesitantly, and Castiel nodded.

“Yes, we do.  I helped plan this approach, why do you mention it again now, Dean?”, he added, failing to understand – though when Dean pulled him closer, he started to get an idea of what the prince meant by his seemingly idle repetition of a fact they both knew.

“...We're not gonna have a lot of privacy in that camp, Cas, so maybe we should... I dunno... make the most of it now?”, Dean said softly, which elicited a soft grin from the Caelistran.

“We do not have much time to 'make the most of it now', Dean, but I will indulge you.  Because you'll be much sharper on the battlefield without you lusting for me.”

“As if you wouldn't want me just as much.”, Dean retorted, already pulling along Castiel to his private quarters, further down the hallway.  The Caelistran's lack of protests was answer enough to his statement – even more so when the other man eagerly pulled the door closed behind them before walking over to Dean again.  “...You're right about us not havin' a lot of time now, though.  Maybe we should keep it quick, huh?”  Pulling the knight against himself, Dean moved in for a kiss, deep and passionate right from the beginning – time was a luxury they didn't have, not with the war against the rebels about to start, and he didn't want to waste time being coy or needlessly teasing his lover – and Castiel's answer turned into a groan halfway down the road.  “Mmm, you look stunning when you want me, Cas...”, he muttered, swiftly pulling the other's tunic and undershirt off before kissing him again: the result was that Castiel seemingly melted against him, his body pressing against his hands, eager to be touched.  So different was it from their first time together that Dean's head spun when he considered the possibilities.  The Caelistran seemed to realize those same possibilities as well, because he sighed heavily and pressed his body against Dean's again, demanding in a wholly different way.

“I trust you can take me to heaven and back swiftly, Dean... I give myself up to you...”  He pulled Dean's tunic and shirt off in turn, but the prince barely noticed the fact.  His advisor's words inspired fire in the pit of his being – need blossoming inside of him almost as naturally as drawing breath – and he shivered.

“ _Cas_ , the way you talk... God, I'm gonna enjoy makin' you- _haaahhh..._ ”  As Castiel's lips once again sealed around the somewhat sensitive spot where his neck and his shoulder joined and the knight sucked harshly on the already bruised skin, Dean's words turned into a heated moan.  Already his leather pants, which fitted his form like a second skin normally, felt too tight for comfort – and when Dean rocked his hips none too subtly forward, he felt that Castiel was just as aroused as he was already.  “ _Strip us down_ , man, the hell you wa-waiting for...”, he ground out, kissing the Caelistran in the same way he'd been kissed – and with no small measure of satisfaction, Dean heard his hiss when he sucked none too lightly on that same spot, and he more than felt the rough grip the knight suddenly got on his pants, pulling them down impatiently.  “All the way off, man...”, he muttered – Castiel had to drop to his knees to comply, pulling his pants down to around his ankles and then pulling his underwear down the same way to allow Dean to step out of them.  However, the knight's position and their lack of time made Dean place a hand firmly on the other man's head, preventing him from getting back on his feet.

“Dean, what-”

“Your mouth, man, I wanna... I want to feel your lips around me... be inside you without first havin' to take an hour preparing you like you did to me the other time...”  He didn't add the rest of the thought – ' _I wanna fuck that hot mouth of yours, Cas_ ' – but as far as the Caelistran was concerned, he might just as well have shouted it out: Castiel's eyes widened and he looked up at Dean in slight shock mingled with the beginnings of utmost heat.  He relaxed the next second, however, when he looked Dean's body over, and he licked his lips sensually, causing Dean to shudder slightly.

Castiel parted his lips and wrapped them around Dean's already erect member without even the slightest warning, which caused a startled gasp to escape the Winchestrian prince.  It was followed swiftly by a loud and drawn-out moan when Castiel slowly took him in deeper.  “ _Oh J-jesus, Casss... mmmh, m-mooore..._ ”, he muttered, his hand still on Castiel's head, evidently willing himself to keep his hips still.  Castiel could feel his lover's hand shivering, fingers idly twining themselves in his hair – he'd been educated in what that meant by some overly eager women three towns away from Winchestria's capitol, but it was still a little foreign to him, the concept of having Dean actually spill his semen inside his mouth.  It intrigued him somewhat, if he was honest.  In a good way.  And if it'd bring the man he cherished so much pleasure, then what could the harm be?

“Mmmnh...”  He'd meant to try and voice Dean's name, but it was more of a groan than anything else – a groan, moreover, that had Dean shiveringly roll his hips and caused him to take Dean in a little deeper than he'd meant to.

“ _Oh s-shiiit, Cas..._ more of that, man...”, Dean stammered helplessly – from the roiling mass of emotions inside the man he loved so very much, Castiel could tell that Dean wanted nothing more than to sink himself into his mouth completely but that he also didn't want him to be uncomfortable, and that got him to make up his mind.  Groaning again, taking care to keep his lips sealed around Dean's member, he pressed his tongue against the underside of Dean's erection.  The result of both his groan and the press of his tongue was that Dean's next half-thrust into his mouth was more deliberate, and his hand now pulled on Castiel's hair ever so slightly.  “ _God yeaaaah... m-moooore..._ ”  The knight moaned in earnest around Dean now, steadying himself with one hand on Dean's hips, ready to stop him should the prince decide to thrust a little too deep – his other hand dropped to his own pants, loosening them and pulling them, as well as his underwear, down just enough to expose his own erect manhood so he could stroke himself.  He had to time his breaths well – between the fact that his mouth was otherwise occupied and his strokes seemed to steal most of his air away, Castiel could feel himself grow a little light-headed.  Though it could also be the fact that he was staggeringly _horny_ , Castiel considered, using a term Dean had used once or twice – giving Dean pleasure with his mouth was far more enjoyable than he'd thought to begin with, and so far the taste was not unpleasant, nor was the feel of Dean's heated flesh in the confines of his mouth.  “ _Shit,_ Cas... m-maybe... you gotta actually _suck_ a li'l bit more... _ahh man..._ ”, Dean gasped out in between two rolls of his hips.  That thought intrigued the Caelistran somewhat – Dean's thoughts had been about being 'sucked off' – and so he went for it, very lightly sucking Dean's member in a little.  The resulting loud moan and the way Dean's hips quivered had him suck a little less lightly the next seconds, and when Dean's voice rang out, he resolved to keep doing that, because Dean's half-cry made his body tingle with pleasure as well.

“ _CHRIIIIIST... ahhhn Casss... m-more, oh God yeah, more..._ ”  Dean's voice fuelled the Caelistran on, speeding both his hand and the pull of his mouth on Dean up considerably – and finally, Dean rolled his hips and pulled at his head into him in earnest, timing those motions with the Castiel's sucking motions, moaning each time and calling out his name softly time and again.  All of it made Castiel's body ache for release – Dean's, his, _theirs,_ because he knew that he'd come undone as soon as he'd feel and taste Dean's seed shooting right into his mouth.

When Dean's moans and the sound of his name took on more urgency, Castiel suddenly found that he'd been wrong.  Silencing a loud moan on Dean's member, his entire body shook as he came, his own seed jetting out of him and against Dean's leg – and he sucked on Dean's erection as hard as ever before, causing Dean's last moan to turn into a barely held back cry of his name and which also caused Dean's member to twitch and spill his load into his mouth, hot and salty and plentiful.  The Caelistran eagerly let it gather in his mouth and then, in time with Dean's final few soft thrusts into his mouth, he swallowed it, feeling it trickle down his throat.

“Mmm, Dean...”, Castiel muttered once Dean staggered back, effectively pulling himself out of his mouth – the prince looked down at him finally, watching as he licked his lips and got up again.

“Cas, I thought we'd be fast, but this was...”  He drew a deep, shaky breath and then grinned at Castiel, whose body seemed to shine in the soft light still coming in from the outside.  “...Once this rebellion's over, I swear to God and every saint I know that I'll sequester myself with you for an entire week to properly make love to you, Cas... because this was damn awesome, but I wanna finally _see your face_ when you lose it...”  The words were crude, but Castiel's mind-reading abilities picked up the meaning behind them loud and clear, and that was what got him to smile and nod.

“As you wish, Dean... _my_ Dean... now, perhaps we should get dressed once more and join your troops in their preparations, my prince.”

“Yeah, don't want them thinkin' we've got our minds on each other too much...”, Dean admitted, rolling his eyes but getting his pants on again, as did Castiel.  Soon, the two men were fully dressed again, with nothing to show that they'd enjoyed a quick little tryst between the war meeting and the present minute.  However, when Dean meant to go, Castiel placed a hand on his shoulder, holding the prince back.

“...Dean, I want you to know that I-”, he started, but Dean shook his head, gently pulling the hand from his shoulder.

“I know, Cas.  I know what you feel.  I've always known.  You love Sammy because he's my brother, because he's a good guy, because he's god-fearing and all that, but you won't hesitate to wound him if he comes after me.  You love your brothers but if they dare move against me, or against you, you won't hesitate to end their lives.  I've always known your heart, Cas – I'm sorry for denyin' you, and myself.”

“..You mistake, Dean. I wanted to say that I didn't know how much I needed you until just now.  I don't want your kingdom, I don't want your money, your royal position.  None of that makes me even remotely happy.  I don't even want to possess you.  But I want you to be mine and mine alone, Dean.  I want your love, your laughter, your anger, your temperament, your silent moans and your loud cries of my name in the heat of passion.  I want your _life_ – not to toy with it but to share it.”  Dean didn't speak, just motioning for him to follow.  He'd never been an overtly emotional man, his position always making sure that he had to be guarded and cautious.  But as they left, he gave Castiel a look that made it far from necessary for the Caelistran to have to read his mind.

_'I need your love and you in my life too, Cas, so don't you even think we're going to be separated again.'_


End file.
